Stockholm Syndrome
by Chrissy Pen
Summary: What really does happen when a captive falls in love with their captor? AU, slash.
1. Prologue

Yeah. I'm back… I think. Not that that little piece of information is that exciting lol. I'm a nerd. Anyways. This little story popped into my head when my boyfriend was driving me to work one time. And we were listening to the new blink 182 cd and the song Stockholm syndrome came on. And he explained what it was. And for some reason I found the concept very romantic in a totally twisted, psychotic and painful way. And even if I can't do it in quite the way I want to, I wanted to capture that. So I'm going to try.

Slash. As it will always be.

**Stockholm Syndrome**

Prologue

The dictionaries define the Stockholm syndrome as an emotional attachment of a captive to their captor. They say that one realizes that there is a higher chance of survival when they pretend to be sympathetic toward their captor. However, life has its ways of twisting even the most simple of concepts. Eventually, it is said, that one grows emotionally fond of their captor. There is a scientific explanation: prolonged time with one person, dependence, a need to survive, etc.

The truth of the matter is, when it actually happens, it's much different than its definition. It isn't just a reaction from spending too much time with someone you have to be completely dependent on. It's much more than that.

I would know. Maybe more than anyone I have ever met will understand. In fact, it's possible that no one will ever quite understand. But I do. I know what it's like to be scared for my life at one moment and then feel completely safe the next. I know what it's like to want nothing more than to disappear with one person from reality, to slip into our own world, made especially for us.

I know because it has happened to me.

I can still remember what is was like to forget exactly why I was moving from hotel to hotel with someone who had been a complete stranger to me just a few weeks before. I can still remember just how easy it was to forget about my family and my friends and everything that was important to me.

That's because the Stockholm syndrome is much more than what it sounds like. It's more than a captive forming some sort of emotional bond with their captive as a means of survival.

It's about losing who you used to be and what you used to feel. It's about living in a dream world that is so wonderful you never want to wake up. It's about a love so deep and so special and so devastating that you can barely remember your own mother's name. It's about losing who you once were to something much more wonderful.

It has been two years since I've last seen him. Two whole years and I can still feel the fear of having a gun being held to my head as I was forced away from everything I've ever known. I still feel as if my heart is breaking the way it had when I watched him drive away from me.

The Stockholm syndrome is defined as a psychological explanation for the phenomenon of a captive being emotionally attacked to their captor. However, it is much more than that. It is an obsession that never lessens in time.

**TBC…**

Haha. I cannot believe I just wrote that. It sounds so melodramatic. I think I must be ill or something. I promise that the rest of this silly little thing will not be as dramatic as this intro. At least I hope not. I don't do drama very well. I'm a very calm person who is overwhelmed by drama. And yet, here I am, trying my hand at a "serious" fic.

R&R and tell me that I haven't completely lost my mind. (or tell me that I have. I don't really mind).

Oh yeah. And I am planning on finishing Friday lol. That silly story has been in the back of my mind, haunting me for who knows how long. But alas, RL has not been agreeing with me lately. Plus… I have no idea exactly how I want to end it. I think I'm going to go for… ambiguous. Just like this here story. Ok. I'm leaving now.


	2. Chapter One

Slash. AU. Oh yeah, and I don't own anything. Please don't sue me.

**Stockholm Syndrome**

Chapter 1

"Race has been acting strange lately."

Snitch glanced up from the paper he was reading to look at the owner of the voice (who still to this day could make his knees weak just by speaking). "Good morning to you too."

That earned him nothing but a glare as the other person (Snitch's "Baby," who was barely a grown man, but certainly no longer a boy) plopped into the seat across from him. "That stupid Old Man sent him out again, didn't he? Whose life is he trying to make miserable _this_ time?"

Of course, Snitch knew the answer. He, in fact, knew many ways that he could respond, especially in regards to Racetrack Higgins (the only one of Them who actually used his last name). And his Baby, an _almost_man, knew this very well.

There are certain things one learns about someone else after depending on him for more than a few months… or years. (Snitch, himself, had actually forgotten when this boy had started staying with him. But he was positive that his Baby was certainly just a boy then. Sometimes he wonders why his Baby still sticks around. After all, the Deal must've ended years ago. Long enough for the boy to grow up into the most handsome semi-man Snitch had ever seen.) Regardless of time, his Baby learned of Their ways quite quickly. He noticed the subtle changes in a person before they were sent out on a mission and he also knew that there was no way Race would leave on a mission without telling his best friend all about it.

"You're not going to tell me then?"

Snitch sighed. He hated to hear his Baby whine. A slow ache radiates from his groin up to his chest and lodges itself deep into his heart. He silently wished that he could give his precious Baby everything he asked for, just as he did every time he heard that beautiful voice whine or saw that handsome face pout. How was it that he became so weak to this Once- Boy, anyhow? "Race is leaving tonight for Brooklyn to complete a mission."

His Baby's face fell. "Brooklyn, huh? I suppose there are many rich families in Brooklyn. What makes this family so much different than any other family?"

"Other than the fact that the head of this family brings in millions a year? Not much. All families in Brooklyn are the same." Snitch set his paper down, eager to change the subject and hopefully interest his Baby in going back to bed so he can show him exactly _how_ much he appreciated his voice. "Would you like some coffee? I just made it before you woke up. Or maybe we could just go back upstairs and…" He let the offer hang in the air. He knew that his Baby has been with him long enough to notice exactly what he was implying.

His Baby shrugged. "Coffee would be great."

Snitch sighed. His poor Baby always got like this when Race was sent off. After all, other than Snitch, Race was the only person the other ever got to see since it would only cause catastrophe if he left the small apartment. Snitch had a feeling that his Baby missed human contact. After all, Snitch had to go to work on most days and leave his Baby all alone in the apartment by himself. But maybe the reason his Baby got so depressed when Race left on missions was because he knew what Race was going to do.

His Baby was never a fan of their "job," so to speak. Well, Snitch's former job, actually. When his Baby came to live with him, he knew he could never go back to doing what he used to do. Even if he was considered the best (which was how he had received his nickname, the name he now knew himself by).

"Come on, Baby. Don't pout like that. It'll be all right." Snitch rose from his seat at the table so that he could knell by his Baby's side. "Race won't get caught."

"That's _not_ what I'm concerned about and you know it!"

Snitch rolled his eyes and stood up. "For crying out loud, what the hell do you want me to do about it, Skitts, huh? Call him back home? Tell him that he can't do his job because it makes you uncomfortable? How the hell is he supposed to live if he doesn't get the money from the mission? You _know_ he only goes on missions when he needs money!"

There was a long silence and Snitch immediately felt bad for snapping at the boy. After all, he knew from the beginning how uneasy his Baby was about the subject anyways. That's why Snitch gave him the nickname Skittery, after all.

"I hate it when he participates with that Old Man. That job brings nothing but pain to all parts involved." Skittery stood up. Although his facial features had matured a bit since Snitch brought him to live with him, he never really grew much. He still stood the same- 5 feet and 7 inches. Snitch loved it. His Baby was the perfect height for him to hold in his arms.

Snitch sat in the seat Skittery had once occupied and pulled the other onto his lap. His muscular (yet slim) and tall statue made it easy for him to support the other's weight as he wrapped his arms securely around Skittery's middle. "You shouldn't curse the job so quickly, Skitts- Baby. After all, if it wasn't for that cursed job, we would have never met."

A small smile worked its way across Skittery's face. "I still don't see how a 23 year old man would fall in love with a 16 year old. That's kinda gross on your part."

Snitch laughed. "Just call me Pedophile Snitch."

"Well, not anymore, obviously. I turned 18 last month, jerk. And you didn't even wish me Happy Birthday!"

"And you decide to complain about this now?" Snitch rolled his eyes. "I bet you deliberately did not tell me so that you could make me feel guilty about it later, right?"

Skittery giggled a bit. The sound made Snitch's heart beat a little faster. Skittery was never much of a laugher, but when he did it always came out as a little giggle and the sound warmed Snitch's heart every time he heard it. "Duh. Where's my present, punk?"

A lecherous smile developed quickly across Snitch's face. Honestly, sometimes it was like Skittery was just asking for it, but couldn't do it forwardly. "If you want to come with me back to the bedroom, I'll give you the best birthday present of your life, Baby."

Despite the pink flush that made its way across his cheeks and nose, Skittery grinned and wrapped his arms around Snitch's neck, indicating that he wanted to be carried. "I suppose that will have to do."

Snitch easily lifted his Baby into his arms, eager to get back to the bedroom as soon as possible. His beautiful Skittery stared up at him adoringly, all thoughts of Race's mission erased from his head.

After all, Snitch always knew how to distract his Baby from unpleasant subjects.

XxXxXxX

A loud banging noise sounded from the back door, causing Brian Collins to jerk awake, his forgotten novel (reading for school, the worst kind of reading) falling to the floor beside his armchair.

His first reaction was complete and utter terror. Was there someone in the house? Why did the strangest occurrences always happen when no one else was home?

Brian snorted at that thought. "Maybe because no one is _ever_ home," He said aloud to himself while he got up to check out what had caused the slam from the back of the house.

The house in itself was pretty small compared to most millionaires' houses. Brian supposed that was because the house was in Brooklyn, which was pretty cramped for the most part. However the house always felt anything but cramped when Brian was in it. After all, the rooms always seemed larger when no one else was home, which was usually the case.

Being the only child of a very well-to-do businessman might seem glamorous to Brian's schoolmates (he was in his last year of high school, but had yet to turn 17; he hated being the youngest in his class), but it was quite possibly the loneliest of positions. Brooklyn was a pretty high class place to live, for the most part. However most of his classmates were still not used to his wealth and barely ever invited him to do anything. He spent most of his lunch and free-time studying and daydreaming, which did nothing to help him reputation, but caused all the other high schoolers (who were too busy partying and slacking off to appreciate Brian's rewarding grades) to think he was a bit strange. When Brian arrived home from school, he was rewarded with an empty, seemingly ever-growing house. His father was always working and his mother was always out at some social or charity event, trying to further their high upper-class reputation. During most nights his parents stayed out at parties and social events until the wee hours of the morning. Sometimes Brian wondered if they even knew they had a son. As it was, Brian hadn't seen either of them in the past few days. He was lucky to see them twice a week for a period of time lasting longer than 5 minutes.

Another bang from the back door startled Brian once again out of his dark, self-pitying thoughts. "Hello?" He called out. Sometimes he desperately wished that his parents at least bought him a dog or something. Then maybe, he'd feel a little more confident staying home alone all the time. Being 16, he didn't want to admit that he was still afraid of staying home by himself at night, but sometimes he just had to face the truth.

He tiptoed into the kitchen and toward the laundry room, where the backdoor was located. The door separating both rooms was open and as Brian peeked in to the laundry room he was almost disappointed (or maybe it was relieved) to see that the backdoor had just somehow gotten loose and opened, and was currently banging itself again and again against the outside wall of the house.

Brian rolled his eyes and shut the door securely, making sure to lock it. Sometimes he was utterly careless about locking the doors, and this was definitely not the first time the back door had gotten loose like that. Not that it mattered, since the only one who chastised him about it was himself.

"I almost wish there was someone there," Brian thought aloud again. A bad habit he formed since he lacked someone else to talk to. "Then maybe it wouldn't be so boring around here."

He stared at the door for awhile, deep in thought, visions of a handsome stranger waiting to sweep him off his feet after barging through the backdoor danced in head. This made him even more aware of his loneliness.

Brian might have regretted his thoughts if he had known that there was indeed a person who had slipped in through the open backdoor. But Brian didn't even know that there was anyone else in the room with him until a hand covered in a thick cloth covered his mouth tightly, a hand grabbed his arm almost painfully, and he knew instantly that his arm would probably bruise.

Before he even had the chance to feel true terror at what was happening or even try to struggle, his vision grew black and he couldn't think anymore.

**TBC.**

I'm going to try to start posting regularly now and finish _Friday_. I had a sudden, revival for the Newsies fandom after going to the Jump! Dance competition this weekend and running into Dee Caspary a number of times. ("running into" meaning me staring and smiling at him like an idiot as I walked past where he was standing or sitting numerous and him smiling back as if unsure what to make of me. I think he thought he should know me or something because I kept smiling at him. Haha. Joke's on him. I'm just insane.) anyways I also saw him dance and decided that he became even hotter, and that made me want to write fanfiction about hot newboys (except…not). Go figure.

This chapter made me feel lame. For some reason, I can no longer portray emotions because of my recent apathetic moods. I will go into more detail in the next chapter about snitch, skittery, race, "brian" and the like(I know, this is all pretty vague, I haven't even figured the entire thing out yet… and I'm the author) please don't give up on me quite yet! LoL. See? I beg nicely. Ok. I'm going to shut up now. Big huge thanks and kisses to those who reviewed the first chapter! (all…. 6 months ago or something)

R R! I beg you!


End file.
